


These five words I swear to you

by VarjoRuusu



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bad Flirting, Descriptions of wounds, Explicit Sex, Hacker Silver, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Royal Marine Flint, Slow Burn, duh - Freeform, minor mentions of torture, silverflint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: James Hamilton, a widowed Royal Marine and liaison to MI5 is sent to rescue genius hacker John Silver from the clutches of (this months) enemy.





	These five words I swear to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> Ellllllllleeeeeeee! <3 I was so happy to get your prompt, I started writing it right away, but, as you'll know from my ranting about not being done with my challenge story two hours before the deadline, finishing was close. Yayyy. But. Through all the crap, and my ipad eating this and then spitting it back out two weeks later, here it is. I do hope you enjoy it, and I hope it's at least close to my usual standard. You know what's been going on in my life so I hope you forgive me if it's not.
> 
> Happy Holiday Season my friend! <3 <3 <3

**02:53 GMT**

**Location: Romania**

“All right boys, you know the drill,” the gruff voice said and his men shifted behind him.

“Major,” one said tentatively, glancing around. “Can I ask why we’re rescuing this guy...again? At this point I’d have thought he’d have been written off as too much trouble.”

The other men muttered their agreement and Major James ‘Flint’ Hamilton shook his head.

“Believe me,” he groused, “I would like nothing more than to leave the little shit right where he is, and personally I think he deserves everything that’s coming to him. But, MI5 has seen fit to stick their bloody noses in and demand that we rescue him. Again.”

“So here we are,” sighed another of the men, rolling his eyes.

“Indeed,” said the Major, his clipped British tones belying his status as a Royal Marine, despite being surrounded by a good portion of US Navy SEAL Team 12, along with a few of his own team.

“He’s not even a Brit,” one of the SEAL’s muttered and the Major chuckled for a moment, shaking his head.

No, their target wasn’t British, as it happened he was Australian. But then, Australia was still part of the commonwealth and MI5 wasn’t as picky as they would like you to believe about where they got their operatives.

John Silver, real name unknown, was the son of an Australian diplomat who had been assassinated when Silver was just a child. He'd moved to England to live with his mother, formerly estranged, not long after. By the time he had reached the age of sixteen, he was already on the radar at MI5, MI6, the CIA, the FSB, China, France, Canada, and any other number of governments. MI5 had grabbed him three months into his first year of University, at the tender age of nineteen, and he was still their star computer genius.

In the intervening five years since that time, Silver had been kidnapped by rival governments no less than three times, and each time, Flint had been sent in to rescue him before he spilled secrets. No one had been overly pleased to have him back, either, since he was a mouthy little shit who wouldn't shut up, or stop flirting with everything that moved, especially if it wore a uniform and it's name was James Hamilton. He was a royal pain in their collective asses, and in one instance, quite literally. The most recent rescue had involved Lieutenant Muldoon being accidentally shot in the posterior while they were extracting Silver from a rather dilapidated building only a few miles from what was roughly the border of Siberia.

“The drinks are on him when we get back,” Muldoon muttered, unconsciously rubbing his backside which, as far as Flint knew, still carried the scar from the bullet.

Flint hadn’t asked if a scar remained, but he had enough holes himself that he knew how a bullet wound healed. Though to be honest, he imagined that Muldoon didn’t really mind all that much anymore, as the placement of the scar had made him quite popular with several ladies and even a few gentlemen over the last year or so, every time they went to a bar. He was likely just complaining for appearances at this point.

“Just don’t get shot again, eh?” Flint said, shifting his shoulders and sinking back into command mode.

“Might just accidentally shoot him,” Sargent Manderly muttered at Flint’s shoulder and Flint surpassed a chuckle.

“If anyone gets to shoot him, Billy, it’s me, and I outrank you,” he told the Sargent before checking his weapon. “All right, we’ve got two minutes. Positions.”

Silently the men spread out, vanishing into the night and circling the parameter carefully, night vision goggles securely in place.

Flint took a deep breath, checked his weapon again, and nodded to Muldoon. Quietly they shifted forward, toward the small clearing in the dark woods where the one room cabin was lit and there was evident movement inside.

Two small puffs of air and the sentry by the single door crumpled into a silent heap.

“Go,” Flint said softly and Muldoon shifted to the right, lining up a shot through the window, taking it just as Flint kicked the door in, quickly taking out the other man as the one hit by Muldoon's bullet crumpled to the ground.

“Cabin is clear,” Flint said and two more men slipped silently into the single room while Muldoon took up guard outside the door.

“There you are,” Silver grinned, his hair lying lank on his face and shoulders. “What took you so long, Major?”

“Shut up,” Flint snapped. “How many are there?”

“Seven, by my count,” Silver said, glancing around. One of the SEAL’s cut his hands free and he grunted his thanks, rubbing the blood back into his hands as the man moved to free his feet. He had a split lip but otherwise appeared to be relatively uninjured.

“Target information says seven hostiles,” Flint said into his comm. “Two down inside, plus one at the door.”

“Two down on the north ridge,” a quiet American voice reported.

“Got one in the latrine,” Billy whispered. “Doesn’t know we’re here yet. You want him alive?”

“If you can,” Flint said.

“Got another two by the vehicles,” DeGroot, their explosives expert, chimed in.

“That’s eight,” Flint said softly. “Keep your eyes open, there may still be more of them.”

He rounded on Silver, glaring at the man. “Can’t you fucking count?” he snapped.

“Well how the hell should I know how many there are? They put a bag over my head!” he protested, hands waving beside him, blood flow sufficiently restored.

“Let’s go,” Flint said, ignoring Silver’s protests as he grabbed him by the back of his shirt and herded him out the door into the night, the team moving silently and steady around them like the ebb and flow of a tide, surrounding them on all sides.

“I can’t see,” Silver muttered, tripping. Flint’s grip kept him upright and the other man shook him a little.

“Shut up, you fucking idiot,” Flint growled and Silver contemplated stepping on his foot, if he could find it in the pitch black.

“Bully,” Silver muttered just before Flint tugged him to the ground and slapped a hand over his mouth. Silver struggled for a moment then he heard the crunch of sticks and he froze.

One of the men who had taken him, he recognised him by the glint of his glasses as he moved, was no more than ten paces from them, shining a torch around and obviously searching. Unconsciously Silver shrank back against Flint, feeling at least some mild protection from the ridged body against his back. Flint’s hand left his mouth slowly and Silver let out a breath as silently as he could.

This was the man who had planned to torture him when the sun rose, had in fact spent several hours describing exactly what he would do to Silver to extract the top secret information he was after. Silver shuddered, his thoughts jumping through every small detail that was burned in his mind and without even realising it he reached behind him, groping for Flint’s sidearm, which was strapped to his thigh.

“Stop,” Flint hissed, grabbing Silver’s wrist as his fingers closed over the gun. Silver was shaking, going for the gun as a purely defensive reaction and Flint wondered just what had happened in that cabin before they arrived. Clearly it had been frighting enough to set Silver off just from seeing the man again.

The torch swung toward them and Silver’s fingers tightened, trying to pull the gun free, then there was a small pop and the man with the glasses crumpled to the ground, torch spinning as it dropped beside him.

“Clear!” a voice crackled over the comm, loud enough in Flint’s ear for Silver to hear it with their proximity. He relaxed minutely, but remained pressed against Flint for a long moment before he cautiously rolled away and got to his feet.

Standing, Flint watched as the younger man approached the figure on the ground, his eyes wide and blank as he toed the body with one food. For a body it was, the entry and exit wounds clearly visible on either side of his shaved head, glasses hanging from one ear.

“It’s over,” Flint said, laying a hand on Silver’s shoulder, feeling a momentary pang of sympathy. “We need to go.”

After a moment Silver nodded and turned, sticking close to Flint’s side, utterly silent, as they made their way away from the cabin and to the rendezvous point where there were two jeeps and the rest of the men waiting to get them to the airstrip and out of Romania.

He remained silent all the way to the plane and after take off, until Flint finally took pity on him and sat down next to him. The shaking had started and Silver was white faced, looking like nothing more than a frightened boy, despite being twenty four years old and a seasoned kidnap victim.

“Here,” Flint said, holding out a flask. “It helps with the shock.”

Silver took it mechanically and drank, coughing and sputtering as the whiskey burned on it’s way down.

“Good god that’s foul,” he managed to chock as he pushed the flask back at Flint, and Flint chuckled. Foul or not, the whiskey had it’s intended effect, snapping Silver out of his shock induced stupor.

“Are you all right?” he asked, taking his own swig before tucking the flask away. Silver eyed him for a long time then cracked a grin.

“How can I not be, when my knight in shining armour swoops in at the last second to save my life from mortal peril once again?” he smirked and Flint rolled his eyes.

“He’s fine,” Billy grinned, shedding some of his tactical gear as the plane levelled out and they settled in for the long flight back to England. “If he’s flirting with the boss, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

Flint chuckled along with the rest of them as Silver winked at him, but he saw there was something hidden behind those blue eyes that Silver didn’t want anyone to see, something that hadn’t been there after either of the previous times they’d had to go in and rescue him. If Flint had to mark it, he’d have said it was something akin to terror.

 

**4.5 Years Ago**

**Location: London**

“Well, they told me the liaison was military, but I don't think I've ever seen a finer uniformed posterior in my life.”

James felt his shoulders stiffen and he turned around slowly, eyes landing on a gangly young...boy.

There was no other word for it, he was a boy. A child. This was MI5's new genius hacker?

He was somehow managed to look younger than his photograph, and his curls were even wilder in person, spilling over his shoulders in a messy heap, his blue eyes shining brightly as they watched James. His clothes were ragged, mismatched, and he was thin, so thin James nearly flinched. Clearly this kid didn't eat enough, and like most hackers must live entirely on coffee.

But none of that seemed to matter to the boy, who was grinning like it was Christmas come early, his eyes roving up and down James' immaculately dressed body with a clearly undisguised hunger that James never got used to seeing directed at him. Certainly not straight then, not that it bothered James any. He wasn't precisely straight himself. What bothered him was the idea that this kid thought he had any shot at all with lines like that.

“Were you speaking to me?” James asked in his most icy tone, the one that had earned him the nickname Flint from his company of soldiers. The boy just grinned all the wider.

“Well I don't see anyone else in a dashing Navy uniform here, do you?”

As a matter of fact, the room was empty, and James was contemplating strangling the little shit and hiding him in the ventilation ducts when Admiral Johnson, two captains James didn't know, the directors of the cyber intelligence devisions of both MI5 and MI6, and the liaison from the US Navy, Colonel Hendricks, all entered.

“Captain,” the Admiral acknowledge and James saluted, before taking his seat.

The meeting was routine, the same meeting that was held every two weeks. There were no ongoing situations, no emergencies, no terror threats, so it was mostly budget talks, which bored James out of his mind. He glanced over and found the kid still watching him, paying even less attention to what was being said around the table.

When the meeting was over, James rose, saluted, and gathered his briefcase and papers before he fled the room. He was almost to the elevator when the kid caught up.

“So, my name is John Silver-” the boy said, trotting a little to catch up with him.

“I know who you are,” James snapped. “What do you mean by staring at me that entire meeting? It was inappropriate, uncalled for, and unwanted.”

“You're absolutely gorgeous in that uniform?” Silver said, tilting his head and James turned away. Clearly the kid had no filter. It was adorable, in a certain way, but also annoying. James rubbed the ring on his left hand with his thumb and frowned.

James had just opened his mouth to make some kind of response, probably rude, when someone bumped into Silver and the boy tripped, the lid of his coffee cup coming loose and the, thankfully, lukewarm coffee sloshed wildly. Unfortunately, he was standing close enough that the majority of it ended up on James' uniform.

“I'm sorry,” Silver stammered, throwing an insult at the person who had bumped into him. He turned back to James and took a step back.

“In future, keep your bloody eyes to yourself,” James growled, turning and storming away with as much dignity as he could, covered as he was in coffee stains. Silver just watched him with a slight smirk on his face.

 

**5 Years Later**

**Location: London**

“You must be joking,” Flint said bluntly, staring at Bernard Jacobs, their man from MI5. “Again?”

“Well,” Bernard said as he shifted uncomfortably, “He took out three of the assailants this time. We’ve got them in custody, but they're not talking.”

Flint's eyebrows raised, if possible, even higher. It had been almost seven months since they had rescued Silver from Romania, which had been the forth time his team had been sent in after Silver had gotten captured by someone looking for an easy way to get government secrets. By comparison, Silver's counterpart at MI6 had only been kidnapped once in the four years since he started, and he'd shot his kidnapper and escaped before they could even send anyone after him.

Now, Flint wondered what might had happened that allowed Silver to actually fight back. Yes, Flint still saw him on a bi-weekly basis for their meetings, and yes, he'd put on some weight and muscle, finally starting to look like a grow up, but Flint had attributed that to the assistant that had been assigned to him after the last rescue. Ostensibly she was there to help him file the paperwork he never saw fit to do, but her main purpose was to make sure that their highly prized analyst didn't wasted away in front of a keyboard from consuming nothing but caffeine. She was also trained in high level security, to prevent something like this from happening again.

“Is Abigail alright?” Flint asked, suddenly wondering if she had been with him when he was abducted, and Bernard nodded.

“She sustained a blow to the head, but otherwise they left her unharmed. Too many witnesses at the conference,” he said.

“Do we know where they’ve taken him? And who?” Flint asked. Again, Bernard shifted uncomfortably.

“Wait, no, let me guess,” Flint said holding up a hand. He could see his commanding officer roll his eyes behind the MI5 liaison. “Somewhere remote and hard to get to, miles from anything?”

“It’s a bit worse actually,” the other man said, looking for all the world as if he wanted to take a step back. “You know he was at the special conference in Tokyo this week...well… several Chinese operatives grabbed him from his hotel room and our intel says they had him in Chinese waters within two hours. We think he's in one of their prisons, south of Beijing.”

That complicated things. Chinese prisons were notoriously hard to get in or out of, and any attempts at diplomatic negotiations would be utterly ignored.

“And you want me to take a team and break him out?” Flint asked. Bernard pursed his lips and nodded. Flint turned to the Commander behind the desk and stared at him.

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry, James,” the man sighed. “He’s been working on a set of coded transmissions and we have reason to believe they were watching, and waited until just after he broke the code to snatch him. He didn’t have time to transmit the key to his counterpart in MI6, so he’s the only one that can open those documents. And when I say that it’s a matter of global importance that we have the information in those documents, I am not exaggerating, as the American’s are so fond of doing.”

“Yes, sir,” Flint said quietly, his shoulders slumping slight. “I’ll need full discretion in choosing my team.”

“You’ll have it, James, but I warn you...once you cross the border there’s nothing we can do for you. We’ll be waiting with full medical and evacuation teams, but beyond that neither Her Majesty’s Government nor Her Military will acknowledge that any of you even exist. Make sure you and your men are fully aware of the implications before you go. I want this to be a volunteer only mission, Major. Thought I suspect I know what you’ll say, you do have a choice to turn this assignment down,” the general said quietly and Flint swallowed.

He stood, looking out the window for a long moment, hands behind his back and fingers laced tightly together. That little shit was going to be the death of him one day, he just knew it. But, even so, there was no way he was leaving Silver to the Chinese. God help him, somewhere along the line he'd started to care for the bastard. He subconsciously twisted his ring around and smiled.

“I’ll go,” he said quietly. “I'll bring him home.”

 

**6 Days Later**

**Location: China**

**Prison Location: Classified**

**17:23 GMT**

“Christ,” Flint gasped quietly.

Silver’s face was nearly unrecognisable, covered in cuts and bruises and filth. One eye was swollen shut and his lower lip was split so badly it was going to need stitches. His chest was a patchwork of bruises, likely with a broken rib or two, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His left leg was mangled, the shattered bone clearly visible below a large gaping wound. Flint had seen a lot of injured men in his day, injured worse than Silver, but only just.

“I need medical, now!” Flint shouted into his radio, ignoring the sounds of gunfire still echoing throughout the complex around him.

They were a ways from the main body of the prison, in a small side area kept precisely for interrogations. Torture. He shuddered, scrambling for his field kit, tugging it open and digging around until he came up with a bottle of disinfectant and a handful of gauze. Silver screamed when he poured the disinfectant over his leg but he didn’t regain consciousness and Flint hastily packed the wound with gauze and wrapped a thick pressure bandage around it, praying that by trying to halt the bleeding he wasn’t doing any more damage.

“Major, we need to move!” one of the medics, Flint wasn’t sure which one, shouted over the noise as he dropped to his knees across from Flint, immediately checking Silver over.

“Can he be moved?” Flint asked, describing the injuries he had seen, and the severity of the leg injury.

“We haven’t got a choice,” the medic shook his head.

Flint nodded, shifting Silver carefully and lifting him easily. As they moved through the now empty complex, the sounds of gunfire trailing off and silence descending.

“Hurry up!” Muldoon shouted, holding the back of an old forest green Land Rover open and Flint climbed in awkwardly, Silver still cradled in his arms. The medic climbed in after him and Muldoon slammed the door shut as Logan, hit the gas and they disappeared into the jungle.

The road was bumpy and full of ruts that jerked and shook the Land Rover with every foot they traveled and Flint curled himself tighter around Silver, trying to keep him as cushioned as possible while the medic examined his injuries as best he could.

“Can the leg be saved?” Flint asked hoarsely as the medic peeled back the hasty bandages, his face hard.

“If we can get him to a decent medical facility before infection sets in...maybe,” he said. “I don’t want to have to perform a field amputation, but if it comes between his leg and his life...”

“We're three miles out from the rendezvous with Billy,” Logan called from the front and Flint nodded as the medic redressed the leg wound carefully, tying a clean pressure bandage around it.

They bumped along the road for what seemed like hours, but was only another ten minutes, then Billy's voice crackled over the radio as they burst out of the trees and into a clearing.

“We’re clear for about two minutes, I'm bringing the chopper in,” Billy shouted over the noise of the rotors.

The Land Rover came to an unsteady halt and the doors were thrown open. The medic and Muldoon helped Flint down, his arms still around Silver, and they headed for the chopper as the other medic rushed toward them with a backboard. Once Silver was strapped in they loaded him onto the chopper and onto a gurney. The chopper shook violently as they left the ground, but Flint barely noticed, because Silver was awake.

“There you are,” he said tiredly, smiling at Flint. “I thought you weren't coming, Major. What a shame that would have been,” he muttered and Flint forced a grin, gripping Silver's hand tightly.

“You thought I was just going to leave you to spill state secrets?” he said and Silver chuckled, groaning in pain as his broken ribs shifted.

“I like your beard,” Silver said just before he passed out again and Flint shook his head with a sad smile. It wasn't so much a beard as six days of scruff, but who was he to argue with Silver?

Unnoticed the medics were setting up an IV drip with antibiotics, painkillers, and fluids, along with a cocktail of vitamins and nutrients. In the distance there was a loud bang and Flint didn't need to look down to know that the Land Rover had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of twisted metal and ash.

The trip was almost as bumpy in the chopper, every small jog sending Flint’s nerves to hell as he sat and held Silver’s hand. He was itching to move, to do something, but there was nothing to be done now, he’d done his part. Now it was up to Billy to get them out of China’s airspace in one piece and onto the _HMS Prometheus,_ far out in neutral waters where the was a medical team and a surgeon waiting.

“Major!” the medic shouted over the noise of the chopper, seeing his face. “He's alive! Right now that's what matters.”

Silently, Flint nodded, his grip on Silver's hand steady as he watched the jungle speed by below them with unfocused eyes until it turned to water. Soon they were landing on the deck and Silver was being whisked away to the infirmary, leaving Flint standing alone, his clothes covered in dirt and blood, his hair blowing every direction in the wind and his fingers empty, the feel of Silver's warmth still a ghost along his skin. Billy laid a hand on his shoulder but didn't speak before he vanished below decks and Muldoon and Logan followed.

Flint didn't remember much of the next few hours, but somewhere along the line, someone ushered him into a shower and clean clothes, put food and coffee in front of him, and made sure he found his way to the infirmity, where he waited in a hard plastic chair, eyes unfocused and unseeing as his mind came to some not so startling conclusions, all the while his thumb rubbing over the ring on his hand.

Finally, after nearly six hours, a tired looking US Navy doctor emerged to tell Flint that for now, the leg was safe, and he could sit with Silver if he wanted. Flint had simply nodded and followed the man, taking a seat by Silver's bed and taking his hand automatically.

When Silver finally blinked his eyes open, several hours later, the first thing he saw was a dull tan colour. His returning awareness quickly told him that he was in pain, despite being heavily drugged with painkillers. His head only felt the way it did when he was on morphine, and a high dose, but even so his leg was in agony, burning like someone was holding a hot iron to it. He could hear a distant beeping growing louder and faster then suddenly there was a cool hand in his and another on his forehead.

“Silver, clam down,” a rough voice said and Silver forced his eyes, squeezed shut against the pain, to open again. Above him there was an indistinct halo of red hair and two bright spots of green that came into focus after Silver’s vision swam for a moment.

“Leg,” he gasped. “Hurts.”

“I expect it does,” Flint said, his hand leaving momentarily to fumble with something, then coolness rushed into Silver’s veins and the pain receded enough that he could sit up just enough to look and see if his leg was still there.

It was.

“You were in surgery for six hours, have three vein grafts, six pins in the bones, and third degree burns around most of your calf. They had to leave the incision open and packed to monitor the bones so that you don’t get blood poisoning. It’s going to be a long bloody recovery, but barring any complications in the next 48 hours, you’ll keep your leg,” Flint told him and Silver flopped back against the pillows, his hand squeezing unconsciously.

“Thank you,” he croaked and Flint nodded briefly, reaching for a cup of water and helping Silver drink front the straw.

“You might not want to thank me just yet,” he said after Silver had settled back against the pillows. “It's going to be a long recovery, months to years. You'll have to have someone with you all the time for the first several weeks, to help you with everything.”

Silver didn't respond and Flint took a breath.

“I’m sorry,” Flint said, finding that he actually meant it.

“Not your fault,” Silver muttered, hand squeezing.

“It took too long to find you,” Flint said. “If I'd gotten there faster...”

Silver's eyes snapped to his, the blue gaze icy as his hand tightened almost painfully.

“It's not your fault, James,” Silver said quietly and Flint swallowed, then nodded. Silver nodded back then leaned back against the pillows.

“I hope someone fed my cats,” he muttered as he quickly fell back toward unconsciousness, his eyes drooping.

Flint smiled, watching Silver sleep almost peacefully. It would be another three days before they docked in Hawaii, where they would take Silver into surgery again at the best medical facility in Honolulu, before packing them all onto a C-130 back to England. That was if everything went according to plan and the CMO on the _Prometheus_ didn't have to take Silver back into surgery before they docked.

 

**3 Weeks Later**

**Location: London**

“I don’t actually have cats you know. It just seemed like any good computer hacker had a cat or two lounging around and accidentally hacking the CIA when they wanted attention,” Silver admitted and Flint chuckled.

“Well, I suppose that makes it a little easier?” he said and Silver shook his head.

His colour had returned over the last few days, the wound on his leg finally beginning to heal properly, after two more surgeries, a 103.6 F fever, and a course of particularly nasty antibiotics that left Silver entirely unable to keep anything down, save a little apple juice.

They had finally returned to London, and after making sure that Silver's apartment wasn't being watched, he was allowed to return home to recover.

“This is ridiculous,” Silver muttered, suddenly frustrated, and pushed the wheels harshly, tugging the handles of the wheelchair out of Flint’s grasp. Flint made a face, then sighed, raising his hands in defeat as he turned and closed the door behind them. “I don't need a babysitter,” Silver snapped.

“Look, they may very well come after you again, you need protection,” he said, dumping the large duffle that had been slung over his back on the floor in the entry way as he followed Silver.

“And that means you have to move into my apartment does it?” Silver muttered, shoving aside table out of the way so he could get the wheels around the end of the couch.

“You’d rather have someone else?” Flint asked. “You shouldn't even be here, you should have let us move you to a new, more secure apartment, where we can protect you better.” He was met with silence, and eventually Silver grunted.

“Spare room is at the end of the hall,” Silver muttered and turned the chair, wheeling down the hall and into the first bedroom, the door slamming behind him.

Flint sighed, looking around the apartment with slumped shoulders. Silver lived alone, no pets, so no problems there, but there was a stench coming from the kitchen, and the first thing Flint did was hold a hand over his face and bravely cleaned out the refrigerator and the garbage, disposing of them with a gag and a profound sense of relief in the dumpster behind the apartment building.

He checked the rest of the apartment when he returned upstairs, opening the windows long enough to air the place out before he latched everything. They were on the 5th floor and the only fire escape was outside the living room window, so he wasn’t too worried about Silver locked up in his room and sulking.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he asked a while later, pounding on Silver’s door when there was no answer right away.

“Fuck off!” came the sharp reply and Flint shook his head.

He settled in at the kitchen table as it grew dark outside, his phone charging and his guns laid out in front of him as he cleaned each one meticulously, falling into something of a trance as he worked, completely not thinking about Silver at all.

“Do you have to do that in the kitchen?” Silver grumbled, appearing wheelchair and all in the doorway, sometime later.

“You don’t have another table,” Flint said calmly and Silver rolled his eyes, pushing himself over to the refrigerator.

“Are we supposed to starve?” he grumbled and Flint grinned, his back to Silver.

“Billy is bringing groceries in the morning and last I checked you were still capable of ordering take out,” he said and Silver rolled around to the other side of the table and made sure Flint looked up at him before he flipped him off with both hands.

“No thank you,” Flint said politely and Silver growled, throwing his hands up before rolling out of the kitchen and cursing under his breath. Flint just grinned as he finished cleaning the last slide and reassembling the hand gun, checking it before he slid the full clip black into place and set it aside with the others.

 

\- - -

 

Days passed quickly and for the fifth time in as many nights, Silver's nightmares woke Flint in the early hours of the morning. He lay silently in the spare room, listening to Silver screaming, wishing he could do something. He had tried, the first night it happened, but Silver had screamed at him to get out and not come back, so Flint had left him alone. It wasn't easy though, knowing what Silver was going through alone in the next room, and Flint turned over, punching his pillow in frustration.

He'd had his own set of nightmares, after he'd returned from combat the first time, then again after...well. It had been eight years, but thinking about it still hurt. Sometimes, he swore he could still feel…

Growling, Flint turned over and stared out the window at the bricks of the building next door, determined not to think about the past. He was here now, and Silver needed his help, whether he was willing to ask for it or not. Plus now that Flint's heart had gotten involved, he wasn't ever leaving Silver alone again.

 

**Several Weeks Later**

 

“I’m not fucking doing it, do you hear me?” Silver shouted, hobbling away. The bruises had healed and his ribs were still tender, but not so bad that he couldn't get around on crutches now. He just had to be careful not to breath too sharply, or move too fast.

Across the living room, Flint just crossed his arms.

“You want to be a damned cripple forever, is that it? You’re twenty five years old, you’ll recover, but that doesn’t mean you can just sit around not do anything. The therapist gave you those exercises for a reason, you need to strengthen your leg again or it will never heal right,” Flint said calmly.

Silver shouted in frustration, throwing one of the crutches across the room. Flint dodged it easily, raising one eyebrow at Silver. The last weeks he'd been witness to much of Silver's frustration and he was barely ruffled by it any longer.

“I don’t fucking care! Do you hear me? I don’t care!” Silver screamed. “I’m already a fucking cripple, why not just go all the fucking way? Might as well have just cut my leg off, it probably would have hurt less!”

“What is the matter with you? You’re acting like a fucking child who didn’t get their way,” Flint said, staring at Silver.

“No, damn it, you don’t understand! You said it yourself, I’m twenty five! What are people going to think when they see me limping? When they see the fucking scar? They’ll freak out!”

“A hell of a lot less than if you had lost your leg,” Flint pointed out while wondering if there was a better way of talking Silver down from his hysteria. He certainly couldn’t think of one. “What’s this really about?”

“What the fuck do you think it’s about!” Silver screamed. “Who the hell is going to want damaged goods, huh? Who’s going to want-” Silver turned away, choking on a sob, leaning heavily on the one crutch still under his arm.

“You think people who see your leg won’t want to take you to bed, is that it?” Flint asked, realisation dawning. His first instinct was to tell Silver that the exact opposite was true, but he was too irritated at that precise moment.

“It’s not just that,” Silver muttered. “Someone might overlook it for a quick shag but who’s going to want to keep around a cripple?”

“Right,” Flint muttered, his blood starting to boil. “Well I think we’ve had enough of that.”

“What,” Silver started then squeaked when Flint pulled the crutch out from under his arm, one hand gripping his elbow tightly to keep him up right.

“Walk,” Flint growled, tossing the crutch away and standing in front of Silver, gripping his upper arms and stepping back, pulling him forward.

“I can’t, god damn it, Flint, give me the crutches back!” Silver all but shrieked. Flint shook his head and took another step back, forcing Silver to grip his hands tightly, arms full extended to keep his balance on one foot.

“Walk. I know you can, I’ve seen you at therapy. Embrace the pain, it means you’re still alive.”

“Fuck you,” Silver gasped, stumbling forward one step. Flint smirked.

“Maybe later,” he quipped. “Walk.”

“Fucking bastard,” Silver said, his face damp with tears as he clutched at Flint, gritting his teeth before resting his weight on his bad leg.

It burned, agony radiating up his entire leg and into his hip and back and he screamed, collapsing forward against Flint, fresh tears coming to his eyes.

“I can’t,” he sobbed. “Just let me go back to the chair.”

“Going to be kind of hard, I put it in the dumpster this morning,” Flint said, pushing Silver back up. “Breath through it. It’s nowhere near as bad as your mind is perceiving, now get on your feet.”

“I’m not one of your fucking soldiers,” Silver growled, getting his good foot under him and getting his balance back.

“If you were one of my soldiers you’d have done as you were told weeks ago,” Flint said, taking a step back. “Breath. Step.”

Silver stepped, squeezing his eyes shut as he transferred his weight. The pain shot through him, then started to fade as he gasped.

“Breath,” Flint said again. “Now step.”

He took another step and Silver followed him, weight coming off his bad leg and he moved it forward cautiously, moving his weight onto it again. The pain was less this time, pushed further back with every breath he took, willing it down until finally he was controlling the pain, the pain wasn’t controlling him. Flint took two steps back, releasing his grip and Silver clutched at him briefly before he let his hands relax.

“I’m right here,” Flint said quietly, his hands hovering near Silver’s elbows. “Let go.”

Silver let go, taking another step as Flint backed away, around the couch and into the kitchen. He kept going, one step after another, concentrating on his feet. He hardly noticed when Flint stopped moving and he gasped when Flint’s hands gripped his elbows and he looked up to find their faces only an inch apart. Flint was smiling softly, a look of pride in his eyes that Silver had never seen directed at him before.

“See? I knew you could do it,” Flint said softly and Silver felt his cheeks growing hot, his eyes darting all around Flint’s face, from the small scar above his eyebrow, to his green eyes, to his densely freckled cheeks, to his mouth, lips slightly parted and just a bit dry.

“James,” Silver said quietly. “Let go.”

“Why?” Flint said softly, his eyes dropping to Silver’s own lips.

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you,” Silver whispered.

“Should you not?” Flint asked, drawing Silver a half inch closer, pressing their bodies together lightly.

“You don’t want-”

Silver’s eyes slid shut as Flint’s mouth covered his own, swallowing his feeble protest. He moaned lightly when Flint, no, James’ tongue traced his lips and he opened his mouth, welcoming the other man as he tilted his head, carefully deepening the kiss.

James kissed like he did everything else. Methodically and throughly, leaving Silver gasping for breath when they finally pulled apart slowly, long minutes later. His hands were gripping James’ shirt tightly and James’ arm was around his waist, holding him up while the other hand rested warmly on the back of his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull.

“Oh,” Silver said softly. “I thought...”

“Wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time,” James smirked and Silver punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“I thought you hated me,” Silver said softly.

“Who says I don’t? I can hate you and still want to kiss you.”

“James.”

“All right, all right, can’t a man tease? Of course I don’t hate you,” James said softly, his thumb brushing over Silver’s cheek. “I asked for this detail you know, I didn’t trust anyone else to protect you the way I could.”

“How long have you felt like this?” Silver asked, amazed. James shrugged.

“How many times have I pulled your ass out of the fire, so to speak? I didn’t have to be the one who kept coming after you.”

“But...all that time...”

“When you were being the worlds most obnoxious shit and flirting with me at meetings?” James grinned. “You've grown up some since then, don't think I didn't notice.”

Silver looked away and shrugged. “Getting kidnapped that many times tends to give one a dose of reality,” he said quietly.

“And nearly losing you that many times does very much the same thing,” James said softly and Silver chuckled, then sobered again.

“But, what about...” he started, pulling James' left hand up to his eyes and running a thumb over the empty ring finger, startled to feel skin beneath his fingers, instead of warm metal.

“It was time,” James said softly. “He would have wanted me to move on, you know. And I think he would have liked you.”

They had never talked about James' husband before. Silver only knew because when he'd first met James he'd hacked into his file. He'd seen the notation that James Hamilton was a widow, that his husband, Thomas, had been killed in action, that he'd died in James' arms. There had been a photograph of Thomas' funeral, with James standing there in the rain in his dress uniform, face stoic. The only part of him that had given away how broken he was, had been his eyes. Silver hadn't looked any further after that.

“Do you think so?” Silver asked softly, and James nodded, nuzzling his temple gently.

“I think he would have loved your unique sense of humour,” he said and Silver snorted.

“You mean my childish sense of humour,” Silver groused and James chuckled, nuzzling against his cheek.

“Hmm,” James just hummed.

 

\- - -

 

That night, when Silver's screams woke James, he didn't hesitate to throw the covers back and go into Silver's room. The other man was thrashing under the covers, moaning and screaming alternately, and James sat on the bed, reaching for his shoulders and shaking him.

“John, wake up,” he said quietly, using Silver's first name. Silver groaned, then sat straight up, gasping.

“It's alright,” James said. “Just a dream.”

“Fuck,” Silver gasped, shaking. He tried to focus on James, real and solid in front of him, then he felt the tears on his cheeks.

“Shh,” James said, pulling him forward into a warm embrace and Silver broke, wrapping his arms around James and sobbing until there were no more tears left.

“Better?” James asked when he pulled back finally and Silver nodded, smiling sheepishly.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

They sat quietly for a long time, just holding each other in the dark, until Silver shifted restlessly and James quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You know what you said earlier? When I said fuck you?” Silver asked shyly and James grinned.

“Maybe later,” he smirked.

“It's later,” Silver said, mouth quirking.

“Is this you asking?” James asked, his voice dropping into a husky growl that sent shivers wracking through Silver.

“Well,” Silver said, his eyes roving down James' bare chest in the half dark, resting on the bulge in his sleep pants, smirking when it twitched under his gaze. “Only it you're...up for it.”

James laughed loudly, shaking his head. “You are such a little shit,” he said fondly, before he leaned forward and kissed Silver softly, carefully tangling his hand into the dark, silky curls. Silver moaned into his mouth, arms sliding around his waist as Silver's mouth opened under his, welcoming his exploration with a quiet sigh.

“You know,” he mumbled against James' lips as he fell back to the pillows, tugging the other man with him. “I really did think you were the most gorgeous person I had ever met, the first time I saw you.”

“Oh, be quiet,” James grinned, but he was blushing lightly.

“Never,” Silver chuckled and James settled his weight on Silver carefully, pinning him to the bed as he laced their fingers together and drew them up slowly over Silver's head while his mouth nibbled a trail from Silver's jaw down his throat to the hollow of his neck where he licked at the taste of salt and sweat and Silver.

“James,” Silver hissed, arching his back into the press of James' body.

“Careful,” James said softly, rolling them to the side to take his weight off Silver. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't, Silver whispered, drawing James closer. The older man sighed as Silver kissed him, hands resting on his lower back and pulling him closer carefully.

Neither had noticed before, but they had both gone to bed only in their sleep pants, so when their chests pressed together it was skin to skin and Silver moaned, not able to concentrate on the feeling as he arched, whining when James' hand slipped into his pants and gripped his backside, pulling their hips together.

“James,” Silver whispered. “Please, I want you inside me.”

“Are you sure?” James asked, his whole body shuddering. “I mean it about not hurting you.”

“And I mean it when I say you won't,” Silver whispered. “Please, I've been dreaming about you for years.”

“Sweet talker,” James chuckled. “Lie back,” he said gently and Silver reluctantly let go, laying back on the pillows and shifting until he was comfortable.

James gazed down at him in the dim light, smiling as he traced his fingers along Silver's chest, trailing around his nipples, his bellybutton, the dip above the waistband of his pants. Silver just watched him, his eyes blazing with lust while James lowered his mouth and followed the path is fingers had just traced with his tongue.

“God, James,” Silver groaned as James' beard scraped against his skin. It was a full beard now, lush and red, and Silver loved it. He scratched his fingers through it absently and James moaned against his skin, sending a shiver through him as his cock twitched.

James continued his explorations down, fingers hooking gently in the waistband of Silver's pants and divesting him of them in one smooth motion, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him, naked and hard, his cock flushed and leaking already. With a wicked grin he leaned down and bit into Silver's inner thigh, his hands carefully arranging a pillow under the injured leg, at the same time scooting them apart so he could lay with his shoulders between Silver's thighs and nuzzle at the dark curls around his cock.

Silver groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as James' hot breath ghosted over him and his hips raised of their own accord, only to be gently pinned down by James' strong hands, right before his mouth, hot and wet and perfect, engulfed him and sucked hard.

“Fuck!” Silver shouted, hands dropping to bury in James' hair as James sucked him torturously slowly. He let go with one hand and fumbled for the drawer with his last coherent thought and dropped a bottle of lube next to his hip before he buried his hand in James' hair again and tugged hard. James groaned around him and Silver whimpered, already so on edge he didn't know how he would last.

James smirked when he saw the lube and he managed to open it with one hand, coating the fingers as he continued to take Silver deeper and deeper with each bob of his head, until Silver's cock was nestled in the back of his throat and he swallowed, sliding one slick finger against Silver's hole as the other man gasped and trembled.

“Please, James, please don't tease me,” Silver gasped and James hummed, circling his finger once more before he pushed in slow and steady, without pause until he could go no further. He pushed hard before he drew his finger back slowly, repeating the motion over and over. In slow, push hard, hold, then pull back just as slowly.

Silver whined, trying to roll his hips and get James to move his hand or his mouth faster, but James was too strong, holding him down with his free arm across Silver's hips and keeping him from moving as he fucked him slowly with his finger.

“Too much, James, it's too much,” Silver gasped and James finally pulled his mouth away at the same time as he pushed a second finger in with the first and Silver whimpered, his hips pushing down on James' hand, desperate for more friction.

“Tell me what you want,” James said, his voice rough and husky, his chin resting on Silver's hip.

“I...” Silver gasped, groaning as James' fingers circled his prostate lightly. “I want your cock in me, so deep that I can taste it. I want you to fuck me so that I'll feel it tomorrow and the day after, I, God, James I want you to show me why you kept fucking coming after me.”

James chuckled, pressing a kiss against Silver's hip.

“Because I love you,” he said simply and Silver gasped, the words shooting straight to his cock.

“James,” Silver whimpered and James finally took pity on him, adding a third finger and moving his hand faster, fucking Silver the way he wanted, fast and deep. Silver writhed under him, one hand buried in his hair, the other clutching at his shoulder, pulling him up until he could seal their mouths together, gasping against James' mouth.

James gasped when Silver's hand curled around his cock and he jerked his hips forward.

“Now, James,” Silver gasped against his mouth and James found himself nodding, shoving his pyjamas down and kicking them away, reaching for the lube and coating his cock before settling between Silver's legs and pressing in carefully.

“Fuck, finally, jesus will you just,” Silver babbled, head going back and a long moan ripping from his throat as James' clock slid in in one smooth thrust, bottoming out with both of them shaking.

“You talk a lot, did you know that?” James said fondly, pressing a kiss against Silver's temple.

“I swear to god James, get on with it or I'll never speak to you again,” Silver growled, raking his nails down James' back and wrenching a loud groan from the other man as his hips jerked and Silver gasped.

James twisted, grabbing Silver's hands and pinned them over his head. Silver wrapped his good leg around James' hips, heel digging in and pulling him closer as James' started rolling his hips slowly.

“Move, you absolute fucker,” Silver whined and James chuckled, one hand dropping to Silver's hip and holding him as he pulled back and thrust in hard, angling his hips to rub his cock against Silver's prostate with each thrust.

“Fuck, yes, fuck, fuck, James, please!” Silver babbled and James stopped holding back, his hips moving of their own accord, fucking into Silver hard and steady, each moan and whimper in his ear bringing him closer and closer to the edge as Silver moved under him, meeting every thrust as best he could.

“Touch yourself,” James gasped, letting one hand free and Silver immediately reached between them, fingers wrapping around his cock as he groaned, tugging in time to James' thrusts.

“Oh god,” Silver gasped as his whole body tensed and then he was coming between them, pleasure ripping through his body and threatening to make his vision black out. Above him he felt James shudder and he squeezed his muscles, groaning as he felt James' cock pulse and warmth fill him as James shook above him, gasping.

James shuddered as his orgasm washed over him and when he collapsed he had just enough presence of thought left to collapse to the side, pulling Silver gently into his arms.

“Hmm,” Silver hummed, snagging a corner of the sheet and lazily wiping his stomach before he curled up against James' chest, tucking his head under James' chin.

“You alright?” James asked softly and Silver nodded, stretching carefully before settling back into his spot.

“Love you,” he whispered, already mostly asleep. James smiled and pressed a kiss into his curls.

“Utterly hopeless,” he whispered fondly, his eyes drifting shut as sleep overcame him.

 

* * *

 

 _I'll be there for you, these five words I swear to you,  
_ _When you breathe, I want to be the air for you,_  
_I'll be there for you, I'd live and I'd die for you, I'd steal the sun from the sky for you,_  
 _Words can't say what love can do, I'll be there for you._


End file.
